


dangerous habits

by orphan_account



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Murder, F/F, Fake Names, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Genderswap, Hurt/Comfort, I have no idea what I'm doing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Useless Lesbians, and 'sweetheart', another genderbent fic, because girls, but also a little fluff, eventually, genderbent, murder wifes, overuse of the word 'darling', what should i tag this?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:41:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23403148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Something of fate, that’s what you could call it.It was something of fate when the detective had found the glove that morning. like God had gotten bored of the everyday antics of the people she watched so closely and decided to add a little chaos into the mix, a little chaos in the form of two people, Rachel ‘Ricky’ Goldsworth and Caroline Cecilia Tinsley.the genderbent tinsworth fic no one asked for.
Relationships: Ricky Goldsworth/C. C. Tinsley
Kudos: 15





	dangerous habits

It was raining quite hard, but the pitter-patter of the rain went unnoticed by the people dancing with strangers they didn't know in a bar where most lonely hearts meet, the music and lights distracted them from reality, drunken happiness overtook most of them. They were happy now, but in the morning they would wake with a deathly hangover in a stranger's bed.  
Of course, they didn't care right now, too distracted by the lights casting an eerie but enchanting glow on the beautiful strangers.  
The lights were bright, but something about the situation seemed dark, the light flowed through a glass of wine casting a red glow on the table, like blood shining through a window. Two people sat at the table, pleasant conversation spoken between them, it seemed quite nice, but in reality, she saw him as nothing but a disgusting prick, and he saw her as nothing but a dumb broad.  
No one in the bar that night knew what would happen to the two strangers, they didn't really care, didn't really notice. Maybe if they paid attention they would have seen the hints, maybe if the bartender wasn’t so focused on cleaning glasses rather than his patrons he would have noticed that the man was nearly twenty years older than the woman, or that he seemed a lot less drunk than the woman, or maybe how he was sleazily flirting with her, not trying to hide the sexual, and a little sexist, words slipping through his teeth drunkenly. The woman didn't take any mind to it, she smiled, and nodded and giggled along every time he told a joke or story, even though he was not very funny. And if you paid close attention, you would notice her nodding and laughing seemed a little fake and overdone, piled on to seem like she was having a good time, like it was an enjoyable night.  
He, of course, didn’t realize the overdone simulate of her attention, maybe he was just drunk, or maybe he was too much of a narcissistic asshole to notice.  
The people laughed and danced, not paying any attention to anyone else there, living in their own little world. No one would have guessed someone in this room would be dead by the morning.  
It wasn't their fault, they couldn't have known.  
They were there, stuck in their own world, dancing their troubles away, and in the end, it all seemed rather pointless. They were living in the moment, living but not seeing.  
So it wasn't really a surprise that they didn't notice when the man and woman left together, a bright fake giggle erupting from the woman as they ran for the door.  
“it’s just a short walk to my house,” she lied, speaking in a bright voice that sounded nothing like hers, putting on an act to sound all drunk and giggly. Really, there had been no alcohol in her drink at all, it was cranberry juice in a wine glass that she had come up with some strange fancy name for that, to be honest, she was pretty sure she had stolen from an old perfume bottle. He didn't have to know that though, he also didn't have to know that she had no interest in him, (really she had no interest in men in general) or that she knew all of his personal information, he also didn't have to know that they were heading to a lake, and nowhere near her house.  
The moon was casting a soft white glow on the lake, the water rippling slowly, like an angel gliding along the water. The longer they walked, the wearier the man seemed to get.  
“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” He asked.  
The woman gave a sly smile to no one, before quickly making it disappear before turning around to face the man.  
“Of course,” she smiled, trying her best to not look dishonest, “it's not long from now.”  
She pulled a pair of black gloves out of her handbag, putting them on carefully, taking her time to slide them on delicately onto her hands.  
She pulled a knife out along with them, hiding it from the view of the man, waiting for him to distract himself with the lake, staring at it with a look of fear in his eyes, he was starting to get anxious, she could tell by the way he held his arm tightly, or how he avoided her eyes, staring anywhere else but her face. She raised the knife slowly, letting it catch the moonlight, giving it a shine similar to the one that flowed through the glass of ‘wine’ earlier that night. The man turned before it could happen, meeting her eyes, eyes dark as the devil. At that moment there was no life in her eyes, just darkness that held the horrible mysteries of life. No emotion, just death and pain, and despite the death and pain she was smiling, smiling because she loved the way it felt, the way it felt to kill, like each person gave her more power.  
At first, she had felt a painful amount of guilt, the first time she let the sharp knife cut down into skin with a few inelegant stabs,but it got smaller and smaller with each person she gave the sharp touch of death. Guilt she kept in a small box she hid somewhere in her soul, and though it seemed impossible, if you looked hard enough you would find that box, or you could be naive enough to not look at it all. And instead, you would be greeted by the darkness and pain in those eyes, and that evil smile.  
His eyes widened to the size of golf balls and let out a scream loud enough to compare to a rocket going off, before being cut off by the knife coming up and down multiple times.  
A few sharp stabs, a loud scream, and a hard shove. It all happens in a few seconds, but it felt like it had all happened in slow motion.  
She stood at the edge of the lake, staring down at the body slowly floating down to the bottom of the water, turning the water a dark pink, blood staining like wine. 

She held her hands on her hips and sighed, blood stained her clothes, sleeping slowly but surely into the white dress she had worn to the bar that night, nearly soaked completely red. ‘It’s too bad,’ she thought, it was expensive.  
She wondered if the mayor would be able to get the blood out, but then again it wouldn’t matter, she had at least more than ten other dresses at home that were probably worth more than this.  
The gloves were wet with blood, but it was better than having fingerprints on the knife.  
In about an hour or two she had cleaned up most of the blood on the ground, making sure there weren’t any witnesses, she was very unusually calm for a person who had just murdered someone, it was like she had done it before, maybe she had.  
But that wasn't for anyone to know but herself.  
It was strangely familiar to her, like eating breakfast in the morning or getting ready for bed at night. It was bizarre how normal she treated it, but then again, she wasn't exactly what you would call normal.  
Psychotic, crazy, out of her goddamn mind fit better.  
It was familiar because she knew it, knew how to deal with the situation. She had been there before. It happened more times than she could count, body after body, she didn't even really consider it surprising anymore, stopped flinching every time she shot a bullet.  
She knew how to do it without being caught, it was easy, she didn't make mistakes, the closest she had ever gotten was the one time she nearly forgot to use gloves when she grabbed her knife, other than that it had been easy.  
So as she walked away, bloody gloves poking out of her purse, it was something like fate that made the wind blow a little too hard, letting the glove fly out of her purse. 

Something of fate, that’s what you could call it.  
It was something of fate when the detective had found the glove that morning. like God had gotten bored of the everyday antics of the people she watched so closely and decided to add a little chaos into the mix, a little chaos in the form of two people, Rachel ‘Ricky’ Goldsworth and Caroline Cecilia Tinsley. 

It had been a slow day, Tinsley imagined that she would be in the office for most of the day, so she was quite surprised when Horsley called and told her that she had to come immediately.  
It was maybe a little selfish, but Tinsley really didn’t care for the dead person waiting for her at the bottom of the lake, she was already nearly sinking in paperwork and had gotten less than four hours of sleep last night.  
However she had one rule, justice must always be served, even though it sounded like something from a kids’ book.  
If you were to walk into a room with a bloody corpse spilling blood on the floor, you probably wouldn't want to go any farther in that room, if you had the smallest bit of sanity you wouldn't want to be near a decaying bloody corpse, however, anybody can get used to something. the first time Tinsley had seen a dead body, she nearly threw up, by the fifteenth time she didn't even flinch. She didn't deny that it was disturbing, sometimes she would see a body so brutal you could hardly tell what the person's face looked like, she would recoil her face in disgust when she saw them like that, but most of the time she wasn't fazed.  
The body was found in a shallow lake by a bartender going home from a shift. It took him a little while after pulling the body out of the water to realize the man looked strangely familiar. He later realized the bloody body was a man that had been drinking with a young woman at the bar he worked at last night.  
The body was a few hours old, stabbed in the chest at least fourteen times.  
Horsley was standing over the body. Staring down at it with a stern expression, hands on his hips, like he was scolding a child rather than staring down at a dead body.  
Tinsley let out a sigh as she walked over to Horsley, she would much rather be at home right now rather than in the presence of a dead man. The man's eyes were still open, it was unsettling. His eyes were wide like he didn’t have time to process the knife to his chest before he was already falling into the water. There was an eerie silence settling in between the two before Horsley finally spoke.  
“Here,” he said, handing her a pair of white medical gloves. “Don't want you to contaminate anything.”  
Tinsley nodded and took the gloves, sliding them on carefully like they were made from fine leather rather than latex.  
“He was stabbed fourteen times in the chest, surprisingly enough he choked on the water and died from drowning before blood loss.”  
Tinsley didn’t say anything, just nodded letting her mind wander as her eyes explored the body.  
Daniel walked over to them, a timid man who worked for the forensics team. Horsley never liked him, ’too quiet’ he would tell her, ‘not really in a suspicious way, but sometimes it’s annoying how awkward he is.’  
The three stared down at the body in grim silence before Tinsley walked away to find something that could possibly help out.  
Sometime later, the body had been taken back to the lab and forensics was leaving, it was the smallest amount of luck that made Tinsley spot the glove, laying down on the edge of the pavement, barely visible, hidden under the grass.  
The glove was black, but the dried blood made it look more like dark brown than black.  
There were a few spots where the blood was still wet, and it was hard to tell if the glove was damp from the morning dew or the dark blood seeping into the expensive cloth.  
Tinsley went to pick it up, hoping it wasn't just a trick of the eye.  
The cloth was soft, damp but still nice, it seemed expensive, definitely something Tinsley couldn't afford.  
She examined the glove for a minute longer before running over to the box of evidence being carted off with the forensics team.  
“Hey! Wait! I found something.”  
She came to a halt in front of the plastic box, conscientiously placing it in the box. A small man with mousy hair and glasses watched her place it in the box then gave her a nod, rolling the box into a truck to get ready to go.

A sigh broke the lonely silence of the immense room.  
It was hushed by a cigarette in between lips of dark red, like the blood of a thousand slaughtered men who dared try to replace the cigarette in between her lips with themselves.  
The cigarette belonged to none other than Rachel 'Ricky’ Goldsworth, spoiled brat, murderer, the devil in expensive clothes and red lipstick.  
She was known by many names, most not spoken to her face.  
If you had enough luck to not meet her face to face, you would probably see her the same way everyone else does, the rich little girl of the famous singer Lucy Goldsworth.  
Most knew her when she was young, appearing in new magazines and media during the mid to late 90s, but she disappeared right around her early twenties. Some people tried to reach out to her mother, but the woman refused to talk about her.  
After about a year she wasn't really talked about anymore, she was gone, unknown.  
And to them it didn't matter, they had gone onto the next person with the least amount of talent for the media to lie and scandalize. Rumours were strong enough to hurt a person, words could cut you like scissors cuts paper, you just had to be strong enough for them to not break you.  
It didn't matter who you were, someone would always hate you for any reason they could come up with.  
They would intimate and torment you until you are nothing but the broken shell of the person you used to be, but hey, that's life.  
If you did happen to have the misfortune of meeting her, there's a good chance you would be dead in a few hours.  
Ricky Goldsworth killed people, the sentence didn't faze her, she had grown used to it.  
She was good at it too, was paid a good amount of money to do it, looked into each and every one of her victims, if they weren't guilty of some horrible act or crime, she would kill the person who paid her to do it, of course, she took the money first.  
She didn't feel guilty, didn't feel anything. Emotions aren't really something she cared much for. She was numb, good at separating feelings from her work.  
On the rare occasion she did feel something for the victim, it was anger.  
Most people will say that killers do what they do because of something that happened to them, some traumatic experience from the past, some horrible incident from childhood.  
Maybe that was true, but she was a good liar.  
When she was young she heard stories of knights who slayed dragons, she always thought she would be the knight, but here she was, the dragon. Slaying the knights who try to overcome her.  
A good lair, with good connections, makes a dangerous monster.  
One phone call and some old dirty bills and you were a deadman.  
One phone call, a few hushed words, and the shine of the dark lights reflecting on a weapon of choice, that's all it took.

Images stuck in Tinsley’s head, images that she would receive odd looks for if people knew of them.  
She couldn't sleep, she rarely could.  
Images, blood, bodies, and… other things.  
She stared down at the figure in her bed, sound asleep. It hurt to look at him.  
Deep Down knew he was a lie, a substitute for her to push her worries onto, but it didn't bring much relief.  
If anything it just brought more paranoia.  
She figured she could settle down with him, have a few kids, a dog, the perfect little safe white picket fence life.  
But the idea gave her a bad feeling, and every time she said ‘i love you’ it left a bad taste in her mouth.  
She sighed, she was tired, tired of pretending. But she had to because no one else would.  
Her mother had once mentioned how she said she loved him but there was no emotion in her eyes when she said it.  
Tinsley didn't have a response, she was right.  
He woke up after she sighed, blinking a few times before he seemed to notice she was staring at him.  
“Hi,” his voice was rough with sleep, most would find it endearing, but something about it made her skin crawl.  
“Hi,” she said, not looking at him, instead pretending to be incredibly fixated on the ceiling.  
“Why are you still awake,”he asked, his eyes starting to shut.  
“..I just couldn't sleep”  
“Mm. well, I'm gonna go to sleep, good night.” he didn't say anything after that, he started snoring lightly.  
“Love you.” she lied, knowing he wouldn't be able to hear it.

The phone rang, she set down the cigarette, closing her eyes until the phone was on its second last ring. She picked it up, finally opening her eyes to a large room full of smoke.  
“They found the glove.”  
She let the words seep into her mind, gave her a second to think, somehow her silence was more dangerous than her voice.  
She nodded to no one.  
“Okay, I'll deal with it.”  
She didn't have to ask who it was, and they don't have to ask her what she meant by ‘dealing with it.’  
They already had the misfortune of knowing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! if you want you can check out my Tumblr GentleCryptid :)


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